


How It Fares with Yon Base Whore

by Meridians_of_Madness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Edging, M/M, Oral Sex, Pussy Spanking, Scolding, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24993217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Meridians_of_Madness
Summary: Getting caught, Aziraphale decides, is a good thirty percent of the fun.-Filled for the kink meme prompt foundhere
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 179





	How It Fares with Yon Base Whore

He's naked, he's trembling, he's close, he's so terribly close, and then the door bursts open and Crowley's through it, snatching his offending hand from between his spread legs and hauling him up by the wrist.

“Knew it,” Crowley said with a slightly theatrical menace. “Knew you couldn't keep that clever hand away from from your pretty little quim.”

“Crowley!” It should have been an offended and embarrassed yelp, but it came out as a longing sigh, and Crowley tipped him a raised eyebrow that was just short of a wink.

“Terrible angel, look at this, look at how _sloppy_ you are.”

He clapped a hand down between Aziraphale's legs, long fingers pushing through the mess Aziraphale had made of himself, and when Aziraphale tried to push his hand away, he got a ringing slap to the face, smearing his own arousal over his cheek.

“I think you wanted to be found like this,” Crowley continued. “Didn't you? Fiddling with your bits in the back room, door not even locked.”

He pushed Aziraphale back on the daybed he had been laying upon, kneeling between his bare legs and spreading them wider. Aziraphale whimpered when the cooler air touched his inner thighs, his soft and sopping cunt. Crowley still had an iron grip around his wrist, and when he reached his other hand to try to cover himself, the demon smacked it away.

“None of that,” Crowley said. “Were you imagining what it might have been like if Gabriel had come in and seen you? What about Uriel or poor innocent Sandalphon? What a display you would have made, better than anything at a Soho peepshow. Would you have offered to suck them off, all in a line, precious, desperate little slut that you are?”

Aziraphale keened at that, beyond words at what Crowley was saying, and his soft cry turned into a high and humiliated shriek as Crowley reached down with both hands to tweak his nipples, turning them brisk and hard before letting go again.

“Hands behind your head,” he said, and when Aziraphale was slow to obey, he reached down and pinched the apex of his slit, just above his clit, the threat clear.

With his hands behind his head, Aziraphale felt even more exposed, skin flushed and glowing in the dim light, and Crowley only had eyes for the poor longing flesh between his legs, greedily taking in the new arrangement Aziraphale had given himself.

“Pretty little hole for such a pretty little slut,” he crooned. “Could be a bit, I dunno, more _colorful_ , maybe, don't you think?”

The first smack, Crowley's fingers hard against Aziraphale's soft cunt, took Aziraphale's breath away. He started to reach down to shield himself, but Crowley clicked his teeth together sharply.

“Ah! None of that. If you're going to be such a slattern, you're going to show me. Legs open. Come on. You know what's coming.”

He did, oh he did, and he hoisted one leg up so his heel set on the back of the daybed and the other landed on the floor. Crowley laughed, slightly breathless, shaking his head.

“Oh, I'd love to get the lads in here. Love to see them taking you in a line and then back again for seconds. Maybe that would sate you, angel, but I doubt it, not a hungry – little – cunt – like – yours.”

On each word, Crowley landed a harder and harder slap between Aziraphale's legs, making Aziraphale buck and squirm, tightening some invisible ligature below the place he would have had a navel and drawing him taut as a bowstring.

“Oh, Crowley –“

“Crowley what?” Crowley demanded. “Crowley stop?”

_“No!”_

“Thought not …”

The smacks went on, unbelievably hard and stinging, and every second or third one, there was a wet draw across Aziraphale's aching clit, making it throb and pulse and sending wave after wave of heat over Aziraphale's body.

“Please...”

“Come on, you lovely little tart,” Crowley murmured. “You know how to stop this, don't you? You know what to say. You can say _please_ all you like and it won't stop, not for love or money.”

He did know, red to pull Crowley back entirely, yellow for a break, and to finish, to really finish...

He looked up at Crowley with wide and longing eyes, his lips slightly parted in in a pout that actually made Crowley stutter a stroke.

“Crowley, I'm yours,” he said. “Your slut, no one else's just yours.”

Crowley shifted, something more than a little snakelike in the twist of his shoulders, and he threw himself down between Aziraphale's thighs, clever fingers replaced with even more clever tongue.

Aziraphale gave up, moaning full-voiced as Crowley lapped hungrily at his clit, sucking it between his lips and against his teeth, devouring before shifting to thrust his tongue deep into Aziraphale's quim and back again.

Twice Aziraphale might have tipped over the edge, but Crowley dug his nails into his thighs, hard enough to draw him back. When it looked like Crowley might pull the same trick a third time, he put his hands in Crowley's hair, yanking it before digging his fingers in and pulling Crowley's head back down.

“Ngghk!” Crowley said, and then he buried his face into Aziraphale's cunt even harder. When Aziraphale came, his mind was full of thoughts of how dirty he was, how filthy, how Heaven would be humiliated and furious to see him like this, how yes, he would spread his legs for every man in Soho for this kind of pleasure.

Then as the waves of pleasure drew back, drained away, he was left with other thoughts, warm and soft and pleased, and he remembered what a pretty game it all was, and how as nice as the rest sounded, there was really only one person who he wanted to do this with at the moment.

He reluctantly raised his hands from Crowley's hair, and the demon looked up, flushed, soaked, nose slightly red from the pressure of being pushed down so hard and grinning wide enough that he might have eaten a whole aviary of canaries.

“So, angel?” he asked. “Are you feeling properly debauched?”

“Positively sluttish,” Aziraphale said languidly. “No better than I ought to be, like a base whore.”

Crowley struck his forehead with the heel of his hand, sitting up.

“Ah, whore, that's right, I forgot that one.”

“But you did quite well in its despite. Though I will ask... slatternly?”

Crowley grumbled as he came down to rest on top of Aziraphale's bare body, pillowing his head on Aziraphale's shoulder. He traced a gentle finger idly over Aziraphale's nipple.

“It was quite humiliating yonks ago,” he said. “Not that you would know, you little goody-goody.”

“No,” said Aziraphale with a trace of mock-woe. “My lack of education in debauchery is shamefully lacking.”

“Ah well, so good then that you have me to tell you where you've gone wrong, isn't it?”

Aziraphale leaned down to place a very smug little kiss on his beloved's forehead.

“Entirely correct, my dear.”


End file.
